


weighed against a feather

by Macremae



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, glass metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 21:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6676288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macremae/pseuds/Macremae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hilbert knows what the end of the Decima trials means. Eiffel doesn't, until it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	weighed against a feather

**Author's Note:**

> Written exactly 30 minutes after listening to Don't Poke the Bear, while listening to sad Broadway songs and crying because DAMN

Eiffel is putting Radar System 7 on standby mode when it hits him.

Hilbert was practically a machine when they last spoke; bland-sounding and numb to the world. Like a chunk of his soul had been ripped out of him.

_And isn't that how it feels to lose someone you love?_

“Oh God,” Eiffel says, a hand softly coming to rest over his mouth, “oh God.”

He makes his way to the infirmary as fast as he can, but hesitates at the door. What would he even say? ‘Hey, I'm sorry Kepler pulled the plug on the one thing that can save your sister because of me, but to be fair, it did kill a bunch of people and nearly me, like, twice, so you actually deserved it.

Hilbert isn't gonna give a damn about why Decima was stopped, he's basically grieving for chrissakes. _Still_ , Eiffel thinks, _misery does love company_.

He pulls open the door.

Hilbert is at the sink, cleaning a pile of test tubes. Globs of water float around him and the counter, but he doesn't seem to care. There's no noise, just the hum of the faucet and the squeak of wet cloth on glass.

“Um, hey doc,” Eiffel tries awkwardly, “want some help with those?”

“No thank you Officer Eiffel, I am fine,” Hilbert replies with quiet terseness. 

“Okay…” Eiffel floats over to the sink, and Hilbert avoids his gaze. “Well, uh, just wanted to say thanks again. Y’know, for the fingernails and stuff. Typing doesn’t hurt anymore, which is good, cause, uh, I sure do a lot of it.”

Eiffel trails off into painful silence. Right, he needs a new plan: stat. Time to try a little therapy with Dr. Tsundere.

“And, uh, I also wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Hilbert stiffens, and Eiffel can see his grip on the test tube he’s holding tighten.

“Why?” he asks, still not looking at Eiffel.

“Y’know, for letting Kepler stop the project.”

“Was not your fault. Had every reason to want to,” Hilbert replies, much quieter than before.

“Yeah, I know,” says Eiffel, continuing to push, “but it still really sucks, I mean. Losing your sister.”

There’s a sharp sound, and a crack appears on the test tube.

“Yes, well,” Hilbert says, his voice splintering like the glass, “nothing can be done about it.”

Eiffel frowns in disbelief. “Really? Nothing? C’mon, there has to be something we can do.”

Hilbert lets go of the tube and turns to face Eiffel, his eyes flat circles of flint.

“You will quickly learn, Officer Eiffel, that there are many things in life, void of second chances. Not everything has alternate solution; not everyone can be saved. If I could have tested Decima without killing, I would have, but past is in past. Command gave me a deal: I perfect virus, I am allowed to use it to save sister. Almost passed step one, failed step two. There is nothing else to be done, no miracle or change that can save her now, and that is that. Kepler will call command, tell them Decima has been stopped, and they will kill her. Olga is…”

He pauses, fists clenched by his sides, eyes made of wet stone. His voice breaks on the final word, “... gone.”

The stiff anger and and tension collapse, and in that moment, Eiffel sees Hilbert for what he has truly become: spun glass; weathered and smudged and cracked and now, finally breaking.

He’s frozen for a moment, then quickly moves forward and wraps Hilbert in a crushing hug. Hilbert practically melts into the embrace, shaking and sobbing and holding on to Eiffel like his life depends on it.

“She’s gone,” he cries into Eiffel’s shoulder, “she’s gone.”

Eiffel hates this station, this star, this goddamn corner of the universe that’s brought so much hurt to all of them. Some of it is deserved. Some of it isn’t. None of it is fair.

But then, when is anything?


End file.
